.
Miss Isis has reminded me of Rome, so I continue where I once left off:
Quinto is a small shop in one of the side streets off piazza navona, and they sell ice creams and mikshakes, all made from fresh fruits, and have done so for ninety years.
When I arrive, it's empty. I order their special mixed shake, and take a seat outside, keeping an eye on the world.
A large group of Americans - nearly a dozen - descend on the place. It's like that family outing from the original Home Alone film - maybe Americans really do go abroad with their whole family and relatives. That's nice, I think. They all are in search of ice cream, and queue up to place their orders, the line going till right outside of the small shop.
A smaller tourist family strolls past. "Look at this place!" the father bear says, "this must be some place special, look at the queue they have here."
"Yeah, this looks like the real thing" agrees the mother bear, and next thing you know, we have three more tourists standing in line for Quinto's legendary offerings, clearly beloved and favourite of the native Romans.
***
Which is not to say that I am not guilty of the same touristic foolishness.
Do I not myself come across an eating place near the spanish steps, packed with young Italian teenagers, spilling out onto the pavement, and congregating on the other side of the street too. Aah, I think, I have discovered one of the local favorites here, and I step back to have a look at the sign board above.
It's surprisingly familiar. "McDonald's".
